The Sugar Plum Fairy
by Stratagem
Summary: Chris and Beth's daughter is too sick to go on a daddy-daughter date with Chris. Uncle Mark Watney thinks this is unacceptable and fixes things.


Disclaimer: I don't own The Martian!

A/N: Callie is Chris Beck and Beth Johansen's kid, and she's seven in this story.

 **The Sugar Plum Fairy**

"101.5 degrees."

Callie responded to her father's verdict by throwing herself onto the couch and burrowing her head into the pillow. For his part, Chris felt awful but resolute. With a fever like that plus the cough and the achiness, there was no way he could take her to the ballet and not feel like a terrible parent and doctor.

They were supposed to be going on a father-daughter date to see a performance of The Nutcracker by a professional ballet company that was in New York City for the week. The tickets had been hard to get but he had pulled a few strings since Callie wanted to go so badly. Beth was out of town on a weekend conference, so it was just Callie and Chris at home and the ballet was going to be something fun for the two of them to do together.

Unfortunately, that morning Callie woken up with fever-bright eyes, pink cheeks, and a cough that she tried to hide with her wrist. Chris had been sitting at the table, enjoying an English muffin and an egg, when she had darted past him and thrown open the fridge. She had grabbed the entire carton of orange juice and an armful of tangerines and retreated to her room in an attempt to avoid him.

That kind of behavior hadn't been suspicious at _all_ , but just in case, he had hunted her down and popped a thermometer into her mouth. Her fever had been 99 degrees then, but it had been steadily climbing throughout the day.

And now, just a couple hours before the show was about to start, her fever was past the no-go point.

Chris sat down on the edge on the couch and rubbed Callie's back. "I'm sorry, pumpkin."

She sat up and batted his hand away. "But we got really good seats and everything." She snuffled in an excellent attempt to break his heart as well as his resolve.

"I know, but you can't help being sick," he said. He looped an arm around her and pulled her close, hugging her to his side. "It might not be as cool as going to the ballet, but I'll make us some hot cocoa and we can watch whatever movie you want to."

"I don't want to watch anything," she said petulantly. Sighing, she bopped her forehead against his ribcage. "I promise I won't cough much, and I'll put on three coats, and drink the whole bottle of cold medicine."

"That's actually a really terrible idea." He brushed his hand over her messy braid and then gently turned her head so she was looking up at him. Time to seize an important parental teaching moment. "If you drank a whole bottle of cold medicine, I'd have to take you to the hospital and then they'd pump you full of charcoal and you'd spend the rest of the evening barfing into a bucket. So what have we learned from this discussion?"

"Never drink all the cold medicine," she said.

"A+ and a gold star."

Her lower lip poked out. "So what about the coats and the coughing? Can we do that?"

"I don't think you'd be able to move in three coats, and you can't just stop coughing that easily." Chris tugged on the sleeve of her Star Wars Episode XI nightshirt. "I'm sorry, but we're not going to make the ballet."

Callie let out another groan and slid off the couch, acting like a boneless pile of skin and organs until she was laying on the floor at Chris' feet. Seriously, she was the worst patient ever, which was something she got from her mother. He certainly didn't like that when he was sick. Not a chance.

Chris poked her in the side with his toes. "Callie."

"I want to go."

He could hear the tears in voice, though he knew she would try to not cry.

"I know, I know," Chris said. Arguing with a seven-year-old was impossible He scrubbed at his face with his hand, wishing he could snap his fingers and make her better in an instant. Both of them had been looking forward to this, but Callie was the one who was desperate to see the ballet since she was in ballet class this year.

From his pillow pallet on the other side of the room, Callie's corgi let out a little huff in his sleep. Callie seemed to take this as an invitation to join him in hiding, since she snatched her blanket off the couch, padded over the rug and flopped down on the pallet with him. Houston wriggled and moved so that he was pressed up against her.

Sighing, Chris stood up and headed into the kitchen, where they had a medicine cabinet. If she wasn't feeling better tomorrow, he would take Callie to the pediatrician, but he was pretty sure children's cold medicine would knock this out. He rummaged through their supplies and poured out cherry-flavored cold syrup and got a cup of water. Callie wouldn't take the medicine without water. He knew that from experience.

He was texting Beth an update about Callie when he heard the out-going call ringtone from the TV in the living. A moment later, Mark's voice drifted into the kitchen.

"What's up, Callie-cake? Hey, what's wrong, I thought you were going to the dance thing."

"It's a ballet, and I can't go."

"Why not?" Mark asked.

Chris quietly moved to the doorway, where he could see the Callie had called Mark using the video display on the TV. She did it practically every day. Mark looked like he was in his New York apartment over in Midtown, about twenty minutes from the Beck residence. He usually split his time between NYC, Texas and Florida, and he was supposed to be in town for a couple weeks this time. Callie was sitting in front of the screen with Houston in her lap, her cheeks red with her fever. Every sentence was interrupted by her cough, which she tried to smother.

"Dad said so, 'cause I've got a temperature."

"Well, Cal, he is a doctor."

"Yeeah, I knoooow, but I don't feel that bad, and I really want to go."

"Poor space kid," Mark said, and he tapped on the camera, "But I think you should probably listen to him and stay home tonight. No calling a taxi and taking yourself down there or catching a subway on your own or anything crazy."

"Thanks for giving her ideas, Mark," Chris said as he stepped into the room. He cocked an eyebrow at his friend, put the tray he'd made on the coffee table and settled down on the couch.

"You're welcome, buddy," Mark said with a devil-may-care grin. "Why'd you let her catch the plague, anyways?"

"Oh, I don't know, I thought it'd be fun to study contagious diseases in close proximity," Chris said.

"So cruel, Doctor Dad, your daughter isn't a lab rat. Do I need to call child services?"

Chris made a playfully rude hand gesture to Mark where Callie couldn't see.

Mark smirked and looked back at Callie. "Look, spend the night at home with your dad and Houston. Use those baby blues to wheedle him into giving you everything you want, and then you can go see the ballet another day when you feel better."

"But they're going to leave," Callie complained, "And they won't be back to do the Nutcracker again until next year."

"Really? That sucks."

"Mhmm."

Mark leaned back in his chair and spun it back and forth, grabbing a stress ball to play with as he thought. Chris could practically see the gears spinning in his mind. "All right, party animals, I've got a meeting I need to get to," he said after a moment, mischief in his eyes, "I'll call and check in on you later, Callie. All right?"

"Okay, Uncle Mark…"

"Later, Beck. Don't torture her too much with cough syrup, you medieval hack."

"Goodnight, Mark," Chris said, rolling his eyes.

As the screen switched back to programming, Callie grumpily got to her feet and trudged over to Chris before sprawling out on the couch. Her head resting on a pillow that he had settled against his leg.

"So grumpy," he said, stroking his thumb over her warm cheek. Pulling the band off her braid, he pulled his fingers through her thick dark hair that was the same shade as his own. He had a feeling that Mark was up to something. Knowing him, he would probably find a way to bring the ballet right into the Beck family living room if he thought that'd make his goddaughter feel better.

Way to spoil the kid, Watney.


End file.
